Reaction Formation
by firstadream
Summary: After a fight with Bones and psychology lesson from Cam, Booth finally figures it out. B/B fluff!


**Okay. Here we go. My first attempt at fixing the horrible mess that is present-day B/B. I was honestly at the point where I was thinking that Booth and Brennan were permanently broken. I mean they are royally f***ed up. Pardon my French, but seriously. Hart Hanson better have a damn good plan in mind. That's all I'm saying.**

**But anyway, on to the story. Like I said, it's a fixer-upper. The idea came directly out of a psych class I am currently taking. As soon as it came up in the lesson, I was like "Oh em gee, that is **_**so **_**Booth and Brennan!" And thus, a one-shot was born. Enjoy!**

As soon as Cam saw Booth striding through the lab towards his partner's office, his face dark, his mouth a thin, firm line, she knew it was not going to end well. She'd seen that look on his face a couple of times before and it unfailingly led to a knock-down, drag-out fight. She just hoped the lab was relatively empty, so the inevitable shouting match didn't turn into the in-house entertainment for the night.

Cam remained seated at her desk for all of two seconds before curiosity got the better of her and sent her hurrying down the hall. She arrived outside Brennan's office just in time to see Booth pacing back and forth in front an apparently passive Brennan. Cam knew that would change soon enough. It was testament to how well the partners knew each other that they could rile each other up so easily.

"I told you _not _to go talk to Hernandez alone," Booth said, an accusation in his voice. He came to a stop in front of her desk and regarded her with a stormy glare.

"I saw an opportunity and I took it, Booth," Brennan said coolly, turning her eyes back to her computer screen.

"You could've been _killed,_ Bones," he practically growled. "Killed. Hernandez is not your run-of-the-mill bad guy. He's really, _really_ bad. Like bullet-between-the-eyes, cement-boots kind of bad. Do you get that?"

"Yes, Booth," she said, snapping her gaze back to his with an aggravated sigh. "You told me. Practically listed every crime he ever committed. I took your analysis into consideration and readied myself accordingly. I was prepared."

"Prepared?" he repeated, practically shouting now. "Prepared, Bones? That damn Ruger you carry around in your purse is not going to protect you against a guy like Hernandez."

"I was fine, Booth."

"No, you weren't."

She sighed. Loudly. "Booth," she began, but he didn't let her finish.

He reached across the desk and lifted her wrist, newly decked out in a black brace. "You are _not _fine," he breathed darkly. "If I hadn't of stuck an agent on Hernandez's ass, you wouldn't have walked away with a sprained wrist. You would've been dead. Guaranteed. "

"But I'm not," she said, pulling her wrist from his grasp and standing up.

Her eyes never wavered from his face as she circled around the desk and stopped in front of him. "I'm not dead."

"But you could've been," he said and for the first time, Cam saw a flash of the terror that she knew was the real driving force behind this standoff. "Hernandez would not have thought twice about taking you out."

"Booth…"

"No, Bones!" he cried, his voice rising again. "You just don't get it. You act like you're fucking _immortal _when really all it would take is looking at a guy like Hernandez the wrong way for me to be singing at your damn funeral."

"You're being a little melodramatic," she muttered.

"Melodramatic? Really? This is your _life _I'm talking about. Pardon me if I can't bring myself to treat it with the same disregard that you do."

"I do not treat my life with disregard," she said, jaw set, stubborn as ever.

"Yes, you do," he insisted. "That little stunt you pulled today was nothing but idiocy disguised as courage."

"Are you calling me an idiot?" she asked, her words, low and rough, echoing like a challenge in the quiet office.

She took a step towards him and Cam watched in fascination as he mirrored her actions so that they were practically nose-to-nose. "You don't have to be stupid to be an idiot sometimes," he told her. "Even brilliant anthropologists can pull it off every once in a while."

"You bastard," she breathed. "When you got yourself shot for me, I wasn't allowed to hold _that _against you. When you _died _for me, I was supposed to laud your bravery, your selflessness. I had to watch you bleed to death beneath my hands and then thank you for your _courage_," she spit the word at him, vice dripping with disdain.

Her hand clenched at her side. She lifted it towards his face, but at the last second, instead of striking him, she opened her fingers and pressed her open palm to his chest, right over the spot where his scar lay. He held her eye the whole time, watching as her expression faded from anger to sadness in a matter of seconds.

They stood like that for a few more minutes, eyes dark and knowing. Cam felt goose bumps rise on her arms at the intimacy of the situation, the raw emotion brewing in their gazes.

After a while, Brennan dropped her hand back to her side and took a step back. "You don't get to lecture me about treating my life with disregard. You _don't _get to yell at me for _that_."

She took another step away. "I watched you die," she whispered, her voice soft and lilting. Then she turned and walked away from him.

Booth watched her go. His face was hard and unmoving, but Cam could see the pain in his eyes. She let out a long breath and moved into the office. "You know," she said conversationally, "Michelle is taking this psych course in college. She sent me her term paper last night. She asks me to copy edit her essays sometimes." She paused and waited for his gaze to turn to her face before continuing. "She discussed this really interesting theory that Freud came up with. It's called 'reaction formation'. Ever heard of it?"

He shook his head numbly.

"Well, it's a common defense mechanism of the ego. The idea behind it is that a person's true desire is sometimes disguised as something totally different. Like, for example, a man's love for a woman might manifest itself as irrational anger due to his deep-seated fear of losing her." She paused and smiled softly. "So, instead of asking her to please not risk her life because he is hopelessly in love with her, he just yells at her."

"Cam…" He sighed.

"Hey, I'm just talking in hypotheticals here," she said, raising her arms in surrender. "Just offering some food for thought."

"Food for thought?" he echoed, his eyes stirring with the ghost of a smile.

"Yeah, just sharing an interesting little tidbit with my friend."

"Right," he said, smiling in earnest now.

She smiled too and reached out to give his hand a quick squeeze of reassurance. "I'll see you tomorrow, Seeley," she said.

"Goodnight, Camille," he returned softly and watched her walk away, leaving him in silence, alone with his thoughts and fears.

—BB—

It wasn't until he knocked on her door that he realized his hands were shaking. And it wasn't until she opened the door and he tried to say hello that he realized his throat had gone dry. "Booth?" she questioned, worry flickering across her face as he stood there like a complete idiot, slack-jawed and silent.

"Do you want to come in?" she asked after a while, peering at him nervously like she thought he might've lost his mind.

He managed a nod and moved past her into her living room where he stood with his back to her for a few long minutes before he was finally able to choke up his voice. "Have you ever heard of reaction formation?" he asked, the words slipping out of his mouth in a rush.

"Yes," she said, still eyeing him a little warily.

"Um, right," he said. "So, Cam was telling me about it and I think, you know, that's what happened to me earlier."

"Reaction formation can't just happen to you, Booth," she said reasonably. "It's a subconscious ego defense mechanism. It's an exaggerated form of compensation triggered by unwanted, or fear-inducing emotions and habits."

"Right," he said softly. "Well, then I guess what I'm trying to say is the reason I was yelling at you earlier was because I was maybe compensating for some…scary emotions…or something."

She stood frowning at him for a second, obviously uncomprehending, before a flicker of understanding dawned on her face. "Booth," she said, "are you trying to apologize?"

"Well, yes," he said. "But I'm also trying to…to tell you something else."

"Oh," she murmured. "What are you trying to tell me?"

He was silent for a long time. He turned away from her and turned back. He took two quick strides towards her. Leaned in close. "Look, Bones. First of all, I just want you to know I hate how that whole thing at the karaoke bar went down. I hate that you watched me die and that you continued believing I was dead for all that time. But, you have to understand, I didn't have a choice."

"No, I know, Booth. I _know _it wasn't your fault that I didn't get informed that your death was fake. I understand that that wasn't your fault."

"No, Bones," he said, his voice quiet now. "Not that, I don't mean that. I mean in the bar, when I took that bullet for you…I _had _to do it."

"Oh," she murmured. She dropped her gaze to where his hands still held hers. "I-I don't think I understand."

"You call it alpha male tendencies, but me…I call it love."

"Love," she repeated, her eyes stirring, reaching for something.

"Yeah, Bones. I mean, maybe it is alpha male tendencies, but that instinct to protect—it only comes when you're around." He paused and moved closer. He released her hands and slipped his arms around her waist. "Don't you remember what I told you? I would die for you; I would kill for you; I would do _anything _to keep you safe. _You _Bones, no one else."

"Because you…love me?" she murmured and her voice was faltering and filled with wonder.

"Yeah, Bones, that's what I'm trying to tell you. That's what I've been trying to tell you for eight years. _I love you._"

"But…" She trailed off and lifted her gaze to his face. Her eyes were pained. "You…_left me,_" she breathed, pulling out of his arms and taking a step back.

"What?" he said, brow furrowed, expression stricken. "What are you talking about?"

"You proved me _right, _Booth. All those things I always said—love is ephemeral, a chemical process that causes delusion—you made me question them and then believe them all over again."

"But, Bones…"

"You said you loved me. You said you _knew, _right from the beginning and then the next words out your mouth were 'I have to move on'." Her tone was more confused than accusing.

He watched as she crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes swimming with frustrated tears. "I proved you right," he said softly, thinking of that night outside the FBI building, of her face, her confused, tortured _no_. "You said you didn't have an open heart and I let you believe it."

He felt his throat tighten, his chest constricting with the weight of his guilt. He'd _broken _her. He'd spent years breaking his way through her walls and then betrayed her trust in the span of one conversation. "I-I didn't even _fight _for you," he breathed, suddenly hating himself so deeply that he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. "And then I just _left_."

He looked at her face, expecting to see his own hatred mirrored in his eyes, but found only trust instead. Trust in him, even after everything. "Oh, God, Bones," he breathed, turning away from her abruptly.

He dragged a hand across his face, feeling hot tears burning in his eyes. "I'm not a gambler," he breathed. "I'm a _coward. _How can you still love me after all this?"

She thought about denying it.

_I don't love Booth. Yes, you do. _

She thought about running.

_So you want to get away from Booth?_

She walked over to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Because you're a good man, Booth," she whispered. "And because…because I knew, too, right from the beginning. I was just too scared to face it."

He turned towards her slowly, his face haunted, his eyes tortured. He leaned towards her and pressed his forehead against hers. "You _do _have an open heart, Bones," he whispered, his voice low and fervent. "You are kind and empathetic and…_wonderful._ I'm sorry I didn't fight for you."

"We were both scared," she murmured. "Reaction formation, right?"

He smiled and nodded. Wrapped his arms around her. Pulled her close and buried his face in her hair. "Thank you for waiting, Bones," he told her. "Thank you for being _you_."

"You're welcome," she said with a soft laugh.

He pulled back slightly and met her eye. "So this is it, right? I mean, we're together, right?"

"We're partners," she said.

He gave her a look. "Bones."

She smiled and glanced away, searching for the right words. "We're…_us_," she said finally.

"Yeah," he agreed, feeling strangely giddy. "We're us. And we will be for thirty or forty or fifty years. Sound good?"

She nodded. "Definitely."

He smiled and leaned towards her, pressing his lips to hers in soft kiss that soothed away her hurt and some of his too. "Everything happens eventually, Bones."

She nodded and parted her lips. Smelled the smell that warmed her heart. Tasted the taste that haunted her dreams. "You just gotta be ready, Booth."

**Yay for happy endings! **

**So, I was thinking, I always phrase my obligatory/shameless plea for reviews as a polite question or suggestion, but perhaps the key to epic amounts of feedback is to **_**not **_**ask for it. So. Here it goes.**

**Whatever you do, do NOT review this story. **

**(Did it work? Did I Jedi-mind-trick you into pressing the button?)**


End file.
